


All For Nothing

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Alastair got off the rack in OTHOAP and strapped Dean to it, before Sam and Cas were able to save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All For Nothing

There’s blood everywhere. Dark red, warm, sticky blood. It smells like copper, probably tastes like it too. It’s on the walls, dripping down in thick lines. It’s on the ceiling, spattered patterns painting horrific pictures. It’s on the floor, crimson oceans and lakes. And it’s on Alastair.

Standing in the middle of the room, holding a rusty pipe in one hand - almost the same color as the blood - , wearing a dangerous smirk on his face. He says so much with just that look.

_“Hello boy, nice to see you.”_ Sarcasm.

_“You really think you can stop this?”_ Humor.

_“Take a good look at your brother, it might be your last chance.”_ Pride.

Sam knows his own face says a thousand words too, just different ones.

_”No.”_ Denial.

_”Oh my god.”_ Shock.

_”He’s dead.”_ Grief.

“I will kill you. I’ll rip the bones from your body and skin you alive. I swear to god I will make you suffer so bad, you will beg for me to kill you.”

Anger.

It’s no more than a growl, the black feeling in his stomach expressing its anger, pushed out by helplessness and fear. It’s a stand-off, Sam and Alastair, and Sam knows one of them won’t leave this room alive. He’ll be damned if it’s Dean though.

Time slows down, stops, freezes in this moment. The moment where Sam takes in - really takes in - Dean’s state.

The rack is shaped like a pentagram, solid iron coated with salt. Big chains loop around the front and back of the rack, tying Dean to it by his arms, legs and waist. It is dripping with blood, droplets feeding the large puddle Dean’s bare feet are resting in. Dean hangs from it like a rag doll. His chin rests on his chest, trails of blood coming out from his ears and, probably, any other orifice, but Sam can’t see properly. There are cuts on his arms, patches of skin missing, the white of bones under the flesh showing. His shirt’s been ripped off, the remains lying discarded in a corner of the room. Dean’s chest is littered with cuts, bite marks, burns, and holes. There’s a large slash along the center of his chest, the skin ragged and burnt. The only part of Dean untouched are his legs.

“That’s what you think, boy. Poor Dean over here is already one kneecap down. And you might want to stay away from his backside too, things are a bit messy down there.”

Alastair’s words pull Sam out of his cold shock. Anger flares up in him, bringing with it the strong taste of blood. Demon blood. He watches as every muscle in Alastair’s body tenses, ready to charge. Sam’s faster. He raises his hand and holds it out to Alastair. One short, swift thought is all it takes for Sam to pin Alastair to the wall, rusty pipe dropping to the floor with a loud clang. He feels the demon blood - Ruby - rush through him like fire. It licks at the edges of his vision, at the edges of his brain and the edge of his sanity.

Alastair chokes, coughs, splutters, but never stops grinning like a madman. His feet dangle an inch or so above the ground, Sam’s mental hold cutting off his airway. Just the way Sam likes it. He’s not concerned with killing Alastair. Not yet. Right now, Sam just needs to keep him out of the way so he can get closer to Dean and check him out.

Sam takes a few steps towards Dean, the slowly drying blood sticking to the soles of his shoes. He feels Alastair fighting against his hold, but he’s stronger. Hyped up on Roby’s blood, he’s invincible when it comes to demons. He feels powerful, indestructible, in control. Like he can just snap his fingers and explode Alastair’s body all over the musty room.

Later.

He’s about five feet away from Dean when Alastair opens his poisonous mouth again, filth and acid pouring out, so thick Sam can almost feel it against his skin. It stops him dead in his tracks, freezes him cold. It makes his head pound and his heart skip a few beats. It scares him to his core.

“You think he looks awful now, boy? You should have seen him when he was all mine to play with, downstairs. It was delicious!”

“It’s a shame you came in when you did, I was just warming up. The things I want to do to him, you have no idea. I haven’t even cut anything off yet, or ripped something from him.”

“All I did was remodel his pretty, pretty face a little. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Do you know how good Dean’s insides look, Sam? I bet you don’t. I do. I know each and every one of Dean’s organs like they were my own. Oh wait, they were mine for a while. Dean was mine, Sam. All mine.”

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Poor, little Sammy. Crying over his broken Dean. Don’t cry, son, he liked it! He likes everything I do to him, because that’s what he’s trained to do.”

“You know, I pretended to be you a few times. Those were some of the best times me and Dean here ever had. He begged so prettily. Begged for your life. Take him and spare you. Poor boy never knew it was me until I fucked him over good and well.”

“Take a good look at him, Sam, this is the last time you’ll see your brother. He’s gone, Sam, accept it. I finally got what I wanted, what I set out to do. Dean knows now, he knows everything, and now my work here is done.”

Alastair spits out poisonous after poisonous line, throwing them at Sam with pride and glee. Each one settling in Sam’s stomach like ice. Freezing, all-consuming ice.

“Dead, Sam. Dean’s dead.”

That word. That one word. That word is what finally penetrates Sam’s enraged mind. **Dead**.

Sam focuses back on Alastair, his amped up mind squeezing Alastair’s airway tight. Alastair merely splutters before chuckling.

“Really, Sam? That all you got?”

He doesn’t respond with words; he simply flings Alastair across the room, crashing him into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch of bones. Blood starts dripping from Alastair’s stomach. Good. It starts dripping from his head too. Better.

“Come on, Sammy, kill me. Go on, let the demon blood consume you. Let it take over and make you into what you were meant to be all along. Go on, do it!”

The taunting tone in Alastair’s voice only fuels Sam’s fire, addling his brain even more, demanding his attention and irritation. Keeping him away from Dean.

Dean.

With the flick of his wrist, Sam sends Alastair flying again, smashing him into the other wall of the room. He lands in a heap of bloody limbs, a pained grunt escaping him. Good, he’s hurting. He deserves to be hurting. He will never hurt enough.

Sam has only one thing he needs from Alastair - besides revenge - before killing him.

“Who’s murdering the angels?”

When Cass storms in and stabs Alastair with Ruby’s knife, it’s all over. For nothing. Sam kills Alastair, the host body is dead and Cass has no answers. All. For. Nothing.

Dean.

He’s afraid to get close. To get close and find out. To get close and find out that Dean’s dead.

Dean’s body is hanging heavily on the restraints, blood still seeping sluggishly from open wounds. Sluggishly, like it does when there hasn’t been a heartbeat in a while. Fuck. He needs to get close. Get close and find out.

He hears Cass say something, but the roar of white static noise in his ears is blocking out the words. Dean. That’s all that matters now. Dean. Get close. Find out. Dead.

One sticky, bloody step.

Two sticky, bloody steps.

Three, four, five, six. Close.

A hand reaches out, touches an arm. Cold. Panic. No!

Hands fumble with chains. More than two. Four. Cass.

Dean falls. Limp. Sam catches him. Lowers him. Sitting is sticky too. He doesn’t care. Dean.

“Dean?”

No response. Eyes closed, face swollen, beaten up. Head bleeding, nose bleeding, lips bleeding, ears bleeding. Body bleeding. Unconscious. Hands stroking, feeling, searching. Broken bones, cuts, lacerations, tears and rips, blood, sweat, burns, semen. Semen.

A hand on his shoulder. He jumps. Cass. Yes, Cass.

A choked sob.

“Help him. Cass, please. Help him.”

It’s a plea, a beg, a prayer. Help. Cass shakes his head. Won’t do any good. Too late. Nothing to be done.

“Bullshit! Bullshit, Cass!!”

Sam flies to his feet, blind to anything but the panic lodged in his chest. He grabs Cass by the lapels of his coat and drags him in close. Shouts in his face.

“He did this for you! He’s dead because of you! You did this to him, you bastard! Fix him, help him, save him!”

A nod. A small one, but Sam’ll take it. A nod. Yes. Save Dean.

He watches as Cass lays a hand on Dean’s head, the other on Dean’s arm. Ten seconds. Twenty, thirty, forty. A minute. Two minutes, five.

“Cass?”

Cass stands up, solemn look on his face.

“I don’t know.”

Sam crashes to the ground and drags Dean into his lap. Strokes his head, hugs him tight. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to not know. He has to know.

Fingers searching, feeling, praying.

A heartbeat.

**_Epilogue_** :

Uriel. It breaks Cass a little more. It breaks Sam a little more. All for nothing.

Sam asked Cass to wipe Dean’s mind clean. Clean of everything. The pain, the blood, the abuse, the torture. Cass complied, but not completely. He had sat with Dean for hours, healing him, praying for him, apologizing. Cass might not know real guilt, but he does feel it. It is that strange, nagging sensation that had him giving in to Sam’s pleas.

When Dean wakes up, he is angry, pissed, hurt, and in pain. They never tell him what really happened after Alastair broke free and smashed Dean’s face in. He doesn’t remember, and they won’t talk about it.

Another secret.

All for nothing.


End file.
